


The Slow Slide

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Begging, M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Religious Guilt, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: A series of (mostly) unconnected ficlets featuring Lt. John Irving fighting (and losing) a battle with an attraction to William Gibson.





	1. A Bad Decision

_He has sinned._    
  
It's all he can think while he goes about his day. The words constantly in his mind. For all his piousness, for all his study of the Word and all of his admonishments to others to do the same, he is just as base as the next man. Just as awful as Hickey; taking advantage of penitence to satisfy his own lust. He recalls the way that Gibson's face had flushed, when he'd realized; his embarrassed pause before he'd tried to continue reading, voice shaking.   
  
Irving feels his flesh, weak, pathetic flesh, fill with blood and rise at the memory. But he will not weaken again. He will pray, he will stand in the cold until his limbs freeze if that's what it takes. He must.   
  
A hand brushes his sleeve, and he starts. Gibson is next to him, close. Too close. Irving tries to step away, but there is nowhere to go; no way to do it that wouldn't make it seem like he blamed Gibson for his transgression. It isn't Gibson's fault that Irving has faltered.  
  
"Can we talk?" Gibson asks, eyes imploring. "Our study was helping so much, and Cornelius -"   
  
Irving should say no. Should do the right thing for both of them and keep away.   
  
He thinks of Gibson, pressed warm and close. Thinks of his long fingers turning the well-worn pages of his Bible, his soft voice reciting the Holy Scriptures.  
  
 _Weak. He is weak_. "Yes," he says, and dooms them both.


	2. Obligatory Sex Pollen

He finds Gibson in the same small space he'd once seen him with Hickey. He finds him again by the noises he's making: muffled whimpers and pants and the soft sound of flesh against flesh. Only this time there's no one with him.  
  
He's flushed, panting, hips pumping, straining into his own hand.   
  
Irving stares, mouth open, throat suddenly parched.  
  
He'd told himself that this wasn't the reason he was looking for Gibson, that he was merely concerned for a shipmate. One who was still doing his best not to be tempted. That he may have been one of the ones affected by the strange plant and perhaps been discovered by someone immoral - someone like Hickey - at his most vulnerable, and that it was Irving's duty to protect. To keep him safe.   
  
Gibson looks up, eyes unfocused. "Cornelius?" he says, voice nearly a whine, and Irving's stomach drops.   
  
"No," he answers, surprised at the huskiness of his own voice. At his body's reaction to the way Gibson looks. It has to be the plant. Goodsir had said that only those who had touched it would be in danger, but surely Irving wouldn't -  _couldn't_  - feel this way otherwise. Goodsir could hardly know what the plant would do; he'd admitted he'd never before seen it’s like. Irving must be contaminated. That must be why the sight of Gibson this way is making his breath catch; why he can't take his eyes off of his hand, still moving brazenly between his legs. It must be why he is wondering what that hand would look like around his own length. Irving trembles, tells himself this is wrong, he should walk away, leave, resist. At the very least stop watching.   
  
He can’t.    
  
Gibson finishes with a moan. He is shaking, still hard, unfulfilled in spite of his release. “Please,” he says, reaching towards him. “Please.”  
  
He knows what will happen if he lets Gibson touch him.  _The plant_ , he thinks, excuses, and steps forward.


	3. Begging

"Please," Irving says, whimpers, straining against him. "Please, please, please."

Gibson wonders if this is what he sounded like, to Cornelius. If that was why he was so eager to keep things up, even when it was smarter to stop. He wonders if that was why he reacted so badly when Gibson did what they both knew had to be done. 

He twists his hand, and Irving gasps, clutches at his shoulders.

He's too loud. Gibson puts a hand at the back of his head and guides it to his shoulder; presses his mouth there and holds. Wouldn't do to get caught. 

It doesn't take long. Irving muffles his cry into Gibson shoulder, his body tenses, and warmth covers his hand. Gibson strokes him through it, letting his body sink into him, liking the way it trembles as he comes down. Cornelius hadn't been one for sticking around, not at first, and Gibson knows how it feels to be left cold and alone and still trying to breathe. He can give this much. 

After a time Irving pulls back. He looks at Gibson with large, wet eyes, and Gibson knows he's already regretting it. Doesn’t matter, not really; now their sin is the same and he is no longer in danger. Neither is Cornelius, although he doubts he'll thank him for it. 

Ignoring his own erection, Gibson pulls away from Irving, preparing to leave. 

"Wait," Irving says. He reaches out with a hand that shakes and touches the bulge in Gibson's trousers. "Let me-show me?" he asks, begs, and although his eyes are still wide and sad, there's a determined set to his mouth that says that he is in earnest. 

Gibson takes his hand, and shows him.


	4. Confession

"Forgive me."  
  
Irving falters. He is in his small room, hunched over his Bible, trying to pray. Trying to ask forgiveness for his failures. For his weakness.   
  
"I'm a sinner. I have had impure thoughts. I have coveted. I am guilty of lust, of wanting someone I-" he stops, shudders. Thinks of Gibson's hands, his mouth, the long line of his thigh pressed against his own as they sit side by side.  
  
He is sorry. He wishes he didn't feel this way. But the price of forgiveness is more than remorse; it is repentance, and to do that would mean ending his time with Gibson. He doesn't know if he's strong enough for that.   
  
"I'm helping him," he says, knowing that it's a pathetic excuse. "Without me he'll give in again, break, fall to sin."  _I won't touch him_ , he doesn't say, because he's not sure it's the truth.


	5. Infidelity (but not really)

He's not being unfaithful.   
  
Gibson brushes past Cornelius without looking at him. For all anyone could tell, they might as well not even know each other. But Cornelius' eyes stay on him. He can feel them boring into his back. He can feel them, like two beams, burning.   
  
There's no way that Cornelius can know where he's going. They've been quiet, discreet. Of course they have been; Irving can barely touch him without babbling remorse to his God. If anyone were to catch them he'd probably accept his punishment with overflowing eyes, sure that it was earned and deserved. Gibson half-thinks he'd like it, maybe more than he likes what they do in the dark.   
  
He turns a corner; he's out of Cornelius' sight line. He will make his way to the bowels of the ship and there he will show Irving more ways that men can pleasure each other. Irving will fall a little farther and he'll be a little safer.   
  
He's not being unfaithful; but sometimes it fees like he is. He's just not sure to whom.


	6. Marks

There's a mark on Irving's neck.  
  
It's high up, too high for the collar of his coat to cover, and Cornelius wonders why no one has mentioned it. It's right there, a statement to the world that Irving has been  _dirty_. It's not as if there are any women around - oh, there's the Esquimaux witch, but as Goodsir practically lives up her furs there's little chance it's her that's made that bruise.   
  
Cornelius amuses himself a moment, wondering who might have done so. An officer, most like, another Lieutenant perhaps. Or perhaps it's one of the captains; that'd explain why no one's said anything. Would also explain why Irving isn't off somewhere crying and shaking and flogging himself for his sins; if he was servicing one of the captains he could tell himself that he was only doing his duty.  
  
Irving looks up. "Something amusing, Mr. Hickey?" he asks, mouth curling with distaste.   
  
For a split second, Cornelius ponders calling attention to the livid bruise on his neck. But then he thinks better of it. The men have little love for Irving; although it would be sweet justice to see him flogged for his sins, it won't do anything for him beyond that. Having something over him though…"Not funny, no," he answers, and fixes his gaze on his neck, waiting.   
  
Irving frowns, reaches up. His eyes widen and Cornelius smirks. Then they flick away, and Cornelius eagerly follows the glance, sure that it will land on whoever is responsible for this delightful surprise.  
  
He is entirely unprepared for Billy to be at the end of it.   
  
Billy doesn't notice their scrutiny; he's busy tying together a pile of blankets and seems oblivious to the world. He looks tired and pale, and his hands shake as they work the ties. Cornelius's own hands curl into fists as he wonders if Billy's tired due to sneaking around with Irving.  _So much for worrying about getting caught_ , he thinks, clenching his jaw.   
  
He doesn't look back at Irving. He doesn't need to. Irving will know that he knows; that he can destroy him with a word. It is enough.


	7. Penetration

"Oh, God," Irving says, voice wrecked. His hips twitch involuntarily, fucking into Gibson in spite of his pained whimpers, his whispered pleas for him to go slow, please, slow.

"Oh, God," he says again, fighting to still himself; fighting for some semblance of control. But he can't. It's too good, too tight, and in spite of himself his hips move again. Gibson's breath hitches, and he scrabbles at the crates in front of him as his body arches, trying both to claw away and press Irving in deeper. He's shaking with the strain of letting him in, and Irving doesn't want to hurt him.

He starts to withdraw, and a hand grips at his hip, short nails biting into skin. "No, don't," Gibson says, voice strained. "I can take it. Just -" He takes a deep, shuddery breath, then starts to work himself back on Irving. Steady, relentless pressure, and Irving's hips jerk, forcing him finally, fully inside. Gibson gasps.


	8. Bad Sex

They lie on Irving's narrow bed.   
  
There isn't enough room for it, really; the only way for the two of them to fit is if they both lie on their sides, and so they do: Gibson turned away with Irving pressed up along his back. It's not pleasant, the sensation, but Gibson doesn't tell Irving to move. It's not his place.   
  
"I'm sorry," Irving says, sounding wretched. "I didn't -" he stops, then sighs, his breath washing over Gibson's neck. Gibson suppresses a shiver; this is the first thing that has felt good in the last ten minutes. "Did I hurt you?" Irving asks, as though he can read Gibson's mind.  
  
"No," he says, and Irving makes a low sound full of disbelief.  
  
"Don't. Don't lie to spare my feelings."  
  
"I'm not. It didn't hurt at all." That is a bit of a lie. It had hurt, a little, but not much. Mostly it just hadn't felt good. Irving hadn't seemed to know what to do or when to do it; the entire encounter had been over too soon and wholly unsatisfying.   
  
"I'm sorry," he says again. "I haven't - I've never -"  
  
Gibson sighs. "It's all right."  
  
"It isn't," Irving says. "I can do better." Voice almost desperate. Eager to please. He'd been eager earlier, too.   
  
A hesitant hand brushes against his hip. "Can you show me?" he asks. Gibson feels something soft against the back of his neck. Irving's lips. They brush against his skin when he speaks. "Please. I want-"  
  
Gibson nods. Takes the hand at his hip in his own and brings it around to his front. Curls their fingers together and presses down. "Like this."


End file.
